


the dichotomy of a free fall

by separker



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Original Female Character - Freeform, Suicide Attempt, Work In Progress, im bad at tags, peter being soft, trigger warning: suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 00:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19074154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/separker/pseuds/separker
Summary: lost in her own diminishing mental heath, roslyn steps off the roof of her apartment building. she's caught by the one and only spider-man, coming face to face with the man in the mask. they have no idea how messed up their lives are going to be because of this chance encounter.





	1. what happens when we hit the ground?

**Author's Note:**

> first fic in a very long time. i had this opening scene stuck in my head because of a combination of the songs "roslyn" by bon iver and "heavy in your arms" by florence and the machine.  
> this version of peter is a mix of comic peter, mcu peter but older, and ps4 peter as well. i want this story to be more realistic to real life and real consequences. but hey i still gave ros the iconic red hair :) 
> 
> i also dont know how many other characters will be in this so i think ill add to the tags as i go 
> 
> feedback appreciated!

When I jumped, I learned the dichotomy of falling; the survival instinct that fights gravity and the freedom of the free fall, intertwined to create a terrifying but euphoric feeling. I didn’t really have a plan; just an open roof and a promised ending if I was willing to take it. I had a brief note shoved into the back right pocket of my jeans, stained with coffee and smeared black pen. I’m not sure why I bothered with the coffee at all in hindsight. I wasn’t planning on needing the extra energy for anything, but I suppose bad habits do die hard. 

 

As I stepped up, time ceased to pass in a normal fashion. All I could hear was my own heart beat, pumping like a drum, demanding attention as if to remind me that it was my most important organ and it did not want to stop it’s metronomic march. I stood there at the top of my apartment building, Plaza West, an elegant nineteen story building with green and flowered garden patios, a large crystal blue pool; all the comfortable accommodations of midtown Manhattan. I was a stark contrast, a stain on the fantasy of where I lived. Death does not suit the well dressed people who looked like ants, crawling on the street below me. 

 

I stood there long enough for someone in a building across from me, a person close enough to be bigger than an ant but smaller than a man, to notice me. I imagine I flickered up there like a shadow, going in and out of reality as I flip flopped between two different timeline of events. Being nineteen stories up, I could hardly hear the sirens as they approached but I could see the lights. They flashed bright blue and red, hues that struck me as another contrast. I had a fleeting memory about red and blue, mixing them together as a child and being in awe of the color change to a vibrant purple. I inched closer as this emerged to the front of my mind. 

 

Fire trucks arrived next, louder and clearer than the police were. I knew I was running out of time. These were my final minutes, I decided. 

 

As I leaned forward, arms spread out like a bird, I heard the roof door slam open behind me. “Wait-,” a masculine voice screamed behind me, nearly concerned and desperate in it’s vibrato. 

 

It was the last thing I heard as I started my descent, the last contrast in this sequence of my life being the red hue of my hair flung against the cerulean shade of the sky as I pushed myself off the edge. It was an unbothered sky, a witness to my final flight but with no interest in its outcome. 

 

I turned as I fell, floor by floor by floor. I saw my hand against this unbiased sky, as time stood still I watched my fingers curl and uncurl as my body started to go into shock but my mind stayed clear. I closed my eyes and waited for impact and a sense of relief enveloped me like a hug. 

 

The “impact” I felt was more like a violent collision from the side in a sweeping motion. That must have been the last straw for my stretched thin mind because I suddenly heard a blood curdling scream bubble out of my throat, terrified and confused. I opened my eyes to a flurry of buildings whizzing by, a strong arm gripping me, and wind whipping past fast enough to sting my eyes. 

 

“Oh my god,” was all I managed to articulate between my screams.

 

“I’m putting you down, shh, we’re going down,” a voice said just loud enough to be heard about the noise of the wind. 

 

The voice belonged to a man beneath a mask, a mask of red and blue fabric. A mask famous across New York, a mask belonging to a protector of the city, one I had never considered would have been close enough by. 

 

I gripped him hard as we made our descent to the pavement, a few blocks away from the police and firefighters outside my apartment building. As we touched down, he lifted me so he took the brunt of the landing, and then shifted me slowly to the ground to stand on my own two feet. I watched him release his web line, my jaw hanging open and my whole body quivering from shock. He turned to me, it seemed still in slow motion, taller than me and muscular but in a compact way. Closer to a swimmer than a football player. 

 

“Are you… are you okay?” he asked me, his voice still gentle as he steadied my unsteady body with two hands light on my shoulders. It was odd not being able to see his eyes, only his mask that had two overly large insect-like white meshes. I had only ever seen him in pictures, video, newspapers. He seemed intimidating then, but here in my presence, he only seemed worried. 

 

Dumbfounded, my brain not being able to process everything quick enough, the only response I had was a baffled, “Aren’t you Spider-Man?”

 

After a slight pause, maybe to reflect on what a ridiculous thing that was to say, he gave a real hearty chuckle. 

 

“Yeah, yes, I’m him. It’s nice to, uh, meet you, at least maybe it would be under different circumstances,” he trailed off, “so… what’s  _ your _ name?”   


“Roslyn,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling a little light headed. He took notice of this, his grip on my shoulders getting tighter. 

 

“Alright, Ros,” he said quickly, “let’s get you over to the nice paramedics over here, shall we?” 

 

I could only nod weakly in response. 

 

In one swift motion he gathered me close to his body, and with a hand lifted gracefully to the sky, we once again were airborne. This time it was slow, and closer to the ground, but quickly we dropped next to an ambulance, EMTs watching and waiting as he brought me to their level. They all smiled at him, all obviously excited to get this chance to meet the man in the mask. 

 

_ I’m fine, _ I thought,  _ I’m fine and I’d like to go home.  _ My mouth wouldn’t open to speak the words aloud. I was so tired, drained, I could feel myself sinking into the ground. My vision started to get blurry, riddled with black. As life threw the irony in my face, I fell again but this time towards the dirty pavement. The last thing I felt before losing consciousness was an arm catching me around the waist, warm and sure of its ability to hold my weight.  

  
  


***

 

I spent three days in a psych hold in a shitty part of the city, sedated for most of the time and sent into rushed therapy for the rest of the time. The therapist always wanted to know why I did it, why I jumped. I told her I felt depressed but that not dying made me realize I  _ didn’t  _ want to die, and that I felt better now. I suppose it was half true; I never wanted to “die” in the first place, just stop existing. I didn’t see Spider-Man saving me as some wonderful, romanticized ending where I realized that everything would be okay and he was my savior. The only savior I had was me, and I couldn’t pull it off. So I sold her half truths, and I sewed my mind back together with whatever resemblance of sanity I had left. 

 

After my hold, I went back to my apartment in a daze. I got home to all my lights off, and walked blind through my living room, feeling along the walls until I got to my bedroom. I crawled into bed in the same clothes I had made my flight in, the ones that had caught on the his red and blue suit, leaving a fiber or two behind. I fell into a deep sleeping, a last thought following me into the dark…

 

I would see Spider-Man again. 


	2. the demon and the archangel

A nagging feeling had hooked into my head as the days past by after my suicide attempt. Was there a reason I didn’t die? If there was any reason for anything at all, was there a reason for that? Maybe I was actually supposed to be doing something with my life.

 

I had started to tidy up my dirty apartment after coming home from the ward. The morning I woke up, still in my clothes from that day (the note still in my pocket), I immediately ran to the shower to sit at the bottom and let the warm water help me relax. I tried to scrub the pain away, scrub all the dirty layers of my misery off of my skin through sheer force. 

 

Was I meant to be something, or just melt away?

 

These thoughts pushed me on, giving me small bits of motivation to clean up, maybe eat some food, open the windows. Very small things but they were huge to me. They were a sign of my humanity, crawling its way back into my skin. 

 

My human days lasted for a week or so before I decided to leave the house. 

 

I lived in a posh apartment building; the type with glass doors and a lobby, shining elevators, a service desk. It was something I could afford but I wasn't actually living off of a job, but money from a lawsuit. The guilt of being idle in life, of having no direction was part of the reason I had made my leap. What was the point if I had nothing in life?

 

_ Baby steps,  _ I thought to myself as I walked through the glass doors, leaving my fingerprints behind for someone to wash away later.  _ Groceries are the main concern… _

 

I made my down the block, weaving my through the crowds that were at a slower pace than me, my gait slightly hunched and guarded. Being a female in New York City was like having a target on your back for harassment and my bright red curls certainly didn't help that either.  I never wore anything too flashy, just neutral colors but that was just as much my own preference as it was a precaution. 

 

As I walked, headphones in at a low volume, I thought about last week, about what I did and who caught me… literally. It was so shocking; so abrupt. I still had a bruise right underneath my armpit on the side he’d collided with my body to swing me. It reminded me that it was real, though a few times in the ward I did sit in my bed in the dark and contemplated how crazy I really was. A million other things were more likely than what happened and yet somehow… he was there, just in time. Most of all, honestly, I had felt embarrassed that this renowned figure in the city had to know how absolutely messed up and weak I was. All the therapists always say that it's not considered a weak act but that's how I felt afterwards, on the ground facing the reality of what I had done. The nurse at the hospital wanted a number to call, a family member, friend, whatever. I had no one, I had no number to call. I did what I did and I was still alone afterwards,  _ and _ I had to pay for the ambulance. Maybe I should have asked Spidey for a trip to the hospital, save myself some money. 

 

The only time I didn’t feel so alone was when I met with my new therapist, Pryce. He was a gentle man, soft spoken, almost hazy at the edges. His hair was well combed through, brown and flat against his head. He asked me very simple questions, he didn’t prod, he let me say (and not say) what I wanted. I hadn’t had a therapist since I saw one specialized in grief after my parents passed away. All she wanted to talk about was how I felt about that, why it was  _ okay  _ what I was feeling, it was natural. But it wasn’t and it never felt right that the human brain had the capability to go through that and not simply turn off spontaneously, a defense mechanism. I found out that that part comes later, slower, sneaky until you’re screaming into your pillow in an expensive apartment paid for by your parents blood. 

 

I thought about my new therapist as I went through the cereal aisle, I had an appointment with him in a few days and I hoped he’d just let me avoid his questions. Did he have my old file from the grief therapist? I hoped not. 

 

It took me over an hour to pick a few things: cereal, milk, eggs, very basic necessities. When I emerged out of the brightly lit grocery store, it was nearly dark outside. I slipped my headphones back in, my curls tucked behind my ears as I started my march back home, only about ten blocks or so. I only had the two light bags with me, one in each hand as I walked, nearly lost in thought. I reflected how I almost felt normal, grocery shopping and cleaning and all the actions of a real living and breathing person. It wasn’t someone I had seen in months. 

 

I couldn’t decide what song I wanted to listen to so I pulled over to the side of the walk, putting one of my grocery bags down to take my phone out, the brightness stunning me for a sec. I leaned against the corner of a building, my back to the alley behind me. 

 

My face buried in my phone, my headphones in, I didn’t notice someone come up behind me. 

 

In what felt like under a second, in the blink of my eye, I was being dragged into the dark alley. My hair was held painfully tight at the base of my skull, a hand clamped securely over my mouth. In the struggle I dropped my remaining grocery bag, and a second later my phone too, though my headphones stayed in when it fell to the pavement. I tried to scream, I could barely get air and I was panicking. I thrashed and kicked and too soon whoever had grabbed me had dragged me next a dumpster, trash bags strewn along the sides of the building, milk crates with them. My adrenaline started to kick in then and I could see everything so clearly, the red of the brick, the way the sound of horns sounded so close, but they were not close enough to help. Finally we stopped and I was thrown into one of the black trash bags, face to face with a dirty milk crate. I pushed myself up, now able to stare my attacker in the face. He was a stout man, below average height, sweaty but he seemed all too aware. I was almost hoping it would be just a drunk idiot, but no. His eyes, they looked black in the lack of light to reflect on them. They narrowed at me as I sat up, and he draw a knife swiftly out of his coat pocket. 

 

“Scream, sweety, and it'll be the last time,” is what he growled at me. He gestured with his knife, “Take off your clothes and I won’t hurt you.”

 

I could hear it was a lie as it rolled off his tongue. 

 

This moment was my worst fear. I wouldn’t be violated. Looking him in the face, the face of the demon that stalked my nightmares, I decided I wouldn’t be a victim. If I was going to be, I’d die one too. 

 

My fingers inching over to the milk crate to my right, I breathed and I met his eyes. I hoped my face didn’t give my fear away.

 

I took a big breath in.

 

His eyes widened just a bit. 

 

I opened my mouth and I started my banshee cry. 

 

As he lunged in a fury with the knife, I grabbed the milk crate so hard I skinned my knuckles and I held it like a shield. 

 

_ Please work. _

 

His knife went straight through the black plastic and, thankfully, got stuck. With both my hands now on the side of the crate, I managed to get my right knee off the ground and I held the crate against the man and his knife like a lion tamer with a chair in old timey circus’. His surprise was almost laughable, but all I wanted to do was puke. 

 

_ Get up, run. _

 

I pushed up as hard as I could, both feet finally on the ground. I sent him back, the man with the black eyes, but as I did, the knife fell to the ground. Startled and off balance, he watched it fall, and looked back at my to assess. At this point, we were further down the alley and he was closest to the exit. Shit.

 

He lunged for the knife as I looked around terrified, and saw my headphones crumpled on the ground only inches away from me. I snatched them up just in time, because he stood at the same time, his hands shaking as he grasped the knife. Headphones versus a knife, not great odds. I wrapped the white wire around my hands and pulled it taut, like I’ve seen in the movies. I knew it probably wouldn't do anything against a knife but it made me feel better, safer, even if it was an illusion. 

 

He stalked closer, but I held my ground. I’d die before I was warped into feeling like something small, and used. 

 

Breathing heavy, he raised his knife. I could hear my heart pumping in my ears, loud. It was reminding me once again. 

 

Suddenly we both heard a peculiar sound. A small  _ wisp _ and then the sound of feet landing lightly on the pavement behind the man sauntering towards me. He whipped around, furious now they he’d been stopped from his act once more. I saw a flash of red and blue in the light as a figure appeared. 

 

_ Really? _

 

Thinking quickly, anger filling my whole body now, I spotted the milk crate just behind the man as he had started to step slowly towards the silhouette coming toward us. Something animalistic took hold as he left his back open to me. Something guttural and ancient pushed me forward, and with every muscle in my body I launched myself off the crate half a foot off the ground. I landed on him, this nightmare that stalks the conscious and pulled my headphones tight around his throat. In his shock, he dropped the knife and clutched where the wire dug in. I slid off his back and dragged him with me, wanting to drag him six feet down and leave him there. I wanted to put the demon back where he first was created and make sure he stayed there. I brought him down, not letting up and somehow kept the pressure up. For just a second, I could feel him realize I could take his life. I knew that he knew that I’d steal his mortality just as easily and without thought, like he’d wanted to take so many things from me in this very alley. 

 

In my determination and my minds darkness, I didn’t realize the red and blue figure had walked up to me. A gloved hand grabbed my clenched fists and, startled and scared, I let go. The demon gasped and touched his neck as he was allowed to breathe, his eyes wild with terror and confusion. His eyes grew wider when he realized who stood over him, who had saved his life. The look of a demon who had just met an archangel. 

 

Spider-Man lifted his hand in a very specific way; pinky and index finger straight while the middle and ring finger lay unbent. With the faintest of clicks, he spouted his webs and pinned the demon who unfurled to a man as he realized he had no advantage; that he had no power. 

 

All I could do was stare up at the man in the mask, who turned to me with big white eyes. It was so hard to tell his expression under the fabric so for a second I thought he might take off and leave me alone with a webbed up criminal. 

 

Instead, he slowly leaned down and offered me his hand. 

 

“Can’t stay out of trouble, huh?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this chapter was a massive improvement over the first as i get to know our main character better. thanks for reading!


End file.
